Hunting Dean
by Marshmallow Omen
Summary: "It had been three hours since Dean's body vanished without a trace..." Set immediately following 09x23, Sam enlists Castiel to help him find out just what has happened to Dean. The hunt for Dean is on. [A/N: Rating may change from T to M in the future. I'm trying to post a new 1k-2k chapter every night!]
1. Prologue

*** Prologue ***

Sam Winchester sat at the edge of his bed, with his head in his hands. His body felt heavy, his chest felt tight, his eyes were swollen and burning. Just hours ago he had held his older brother in his arms and watched him take his last breath. Dean Winchester, the man who had saved humanity from annihilation so many times over the last decade, had died of a single stab wound to the chest. His killer, Metatron, was an unhinged angel of the Lord, who had struck Dean down for daring to stand up against his plans to become God. It wasn't supposed to have ended this way.

Over the last year, two civil wars had been raging simultaneously in Heaven and Hell. The two Winchester brothers, raised as demon hunters by their father, had set out to bring an end to both conflicts, with the assistance of their angel companion Castiel. In a bid to end the battle for dominance in Hell, Dean had acquired the legendary Mark of Cain, obtained the formidable First Blade that gave untold power to the wearer of the Mark, and become an unstoppable force against all supernatural beings. He eliminated Abaddon, a Knight of Hell, and ended the war in the underworld. But when he tried to take on the deranged angel that sought supremacy in Heaven, he had failed, and it cost him his life.

This wasn't the first time his brother had died – six years ago Dean was torn to pieces by a hellhound, and brought back to life by Castiel – but Sam knew it would be the last time. The angels had lost their wings, and most of their power, thanks to Metatron. He had tried to summon Crowley, the demon who got Dean into this mess, to see if there was anything he could do, but Crowley never came. There were no other avenues to take. No demon deals to make. No trumps cards to play.

Sam lifted his head and sighed, his breath quivering in his throat as he exhaled. He swallowed hard and realized that his throat was raw. Despite everything he had suffered over the years because of his duty as a hunter, Sam had never felt as broken as he did now. His muscles screamed at him as he stood, reminding him of how far he had walked carrying his brother's body. The body that now lay in its own bedroom on the other side of the concrete corridor. It had been just over a year since the brothers had moved into the reinforced bunker, and this place had felt more like home than anywhere else they had ever lived. Now Sam was unsure if he could even spend another night under its roof. He walked slowly out of his room, pausing outside his brother's closed door. A lump stuck in his throat, and he could feel his eyes welling. He closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. The sooner he got used to the idea of his brother's death being a reality, the better. He shuffled down the corridor towards the bathroom, sniffing loudly.

If Sam had stayed outside Dean's bedroom for a few minutes longer, he would have heard the sounds of a heated conversation occurring on the other side of the door. But instead Sam stood under the hot stream of a shower, water and tears mingling down his cheeks.


	2. Gone

*** Chapter 1: Gone ***

It had been three hours since Dean's body had vanished without a trace. Upon realizing that his brother's bed lay empty, Sam raced through the bunker in search of him. Initially, Sam was certain that Dean had somehow been revived – not exactly an unreasonable thought considering their history – but as he yelled out for Dean, his brother's name simply echoed through the empty shell of their home, answered only by silence. Sam's heart grew heavy again. With his search proving fruitless, Sam decided to return to where it all began: Dean's bedroom. Perhaps he had overlooked something earlier in his panic.

As Sam made his way back through the shelter, he could feel the epinephrine leaving his bloodstream. His stomach was in knots, and his thoughts in disarray. As he re-entered the library, he reflected that the bunker had always been a quiet place. If anything, he preferred it that way. Now it was too empty. Too quiet. Too dead. Even the sound his shoes made on the hallway's concrete floor did nothing to combat the choking stillness. Finally, he reached Dean's bedroom, and sagged against the closed door, defeated.

"Dammit Dean," he murmured. "Just what is going on? Where the hell are you?"

Sighing heavily, Sam ran his fingers through his hair. He turned to enter Dean's bedroom. He hesitated, unsure whether he actually wanted to see if the room remained unoccupied. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and began to reach for the handle. From the other side of the door, a muffled vibrating sound started up. Sam's eyes snapped open. He turned the door handle violently and dashed into the room. He glanced around, desperately trying to locate the source of the sound. He threw himself onto his knees and groped under the vacant bed. His hand found the vibrating object and he grabbed it tightly. While still on his knees, Sam answered the call.

"Dean?" he asked, despite being aware that it was Dean's cell phone he held in his hand.

"No, Sam. It's Castiel," the voice on the other end answered.

"I've lost Dean," blurted Sam in response.

Castiel sighed softly, "Yes, I am aware. I am so sorry Sam. I—"

"No, Cas, I don't think you understand," Sam interrupted. "I've lost Dean. He's gone. His bod—he's _gone_."

Sam could hear Castiel processing this information. "Gone?"

"Yes. Gone. He's not here anymore Cas, and I've searched everywhere and—Please Cas, I need your help."

"Of course Sam. I'm on my way."

_Click._

Sam looked down at the phone in his hand. For a fleeting moment he wanted to call Bobby; he would know what to do. A single droplet fell on the screen, jerking him out of his daze. He got up from the floor, wiping away the tears that blurred his vision. He checked the time on Dean's phone and then pocketed it. He knew it would be a few hours before Cas arrived, so he decided to lay down.

Sam wasn't entirely sure why he chose to sleep on his dead brother's bed. Perhaps it was the shock. Perhaps it was the exhaustion. Maybe he just wanted to feel close to Dean. All things considered, this wasn't a particularly strange action to take, so he resolved to stop worrying about it. A nagging thought tugged at his consciousness as he drifted off into a restless slumber. He rolled onto his side, trying to move away from it, but it clung to his mind like Death's dire embrace.


	3. Epiphany

*** Chapter 2: Epiphany ***

Sam woke to find that his pocket was vibrating. Disorientated, it took him a moment for the pieces to come together in his head. He sat up with a jolt, scrambling for the phone in his jeans. This time he knew Dean would not be on the other end.

Sam rubbed his eyes, waiting for the world to come into focus. "Hello?"

"Hello Sam. I'm standing outside," said Castiel. "I don't have a key."

"Oh, of course, right. I'll be right up," replied Sam, getting to his feet with apparent effort.

Sam returned Dean's cell to his pocket, but not before checking the time. He had been asleep for just over six hours. He took a cursory glance around the bedroom, but there was still no sign of Dean. He hadn't expected his brother to suddenly rematerialize, but stranger things had happened. He felt his heart drop back into his stomach – a sensation that was becoming unpleasantly familiar.

Sam walked slowly towards the door, making it just through the doorway before he found himself hesitating. There was that thought again, the one he had before he fell asleep. He turned back towards Dean's bed, eyebrows knotted together. Whatever his inner voice was trying to tell him, it was just beyond his grasp. He took a step back into the room. He stretched his mind, but instead of getting hold of the thought, he ended up pushing it further away, just as he did as a child trying to reach a can of beans on the top shelf. If only Dean was here. He always got the beans down for him.

Sam greeted Castiel at the entrance to the bunker, and they walked in silence down the winding staircase to the main hall. Castiel approached one of the large mahogany tables and set two grocery bags down. The plastic crinkled noisily, the contents producing a dull thump against the hard wood. Sam stood behind Castiel, shoulders drooping, regarding the bags impassively. Under normal circumstances he would be happy to see this friendly face, but there was nothing normal about this situation. He heaved an involuntary sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. Castiel turned and regarded Sam's face for a moment, his sharp blue eyes seeing all. Castiel took a step towards Sam and embraced him tightly. He felt Sam wilt slightly in his arms.

"It's good to see you again Sam. You look terrible."

"Thanks Cas," sighed Sam, patting Castiel's back before gently pulling away. "So how did things go with Metatron? I'm assuming well because you're still here."

Castiel looked down at the table. "Gadreel is dead. He was a brave soldier. He sacrificed himself for the cause."

Sam was unaffected by the news of Gadreel, the angel who had tricked Dean into allowing him to inhabit Sam's body for months. Gadreel, the traitor who used Sam's own hands to murder Kevin Tran, a close friend of theirs.

"And Metatron? Is he dead too?"

An item in one of the bags shifted, rustling the plastic.

Sam bent down slightly, and tilted his head sharply, trying to catch Castiel's gaze. "_And Metatron?_"

"We have Metatron locked in Heaven's dungeon."

Sam gritted his teeth and swallowed hard. "He killed Dean, Cas."

"I know," Castiel sighed.

Sam clenched his fists. He could feel his heartbeat increasing, his anger rising. "He doesn't deserve to live!"

Castiel raised his head and looked Sam in the eye. "There has been enough blood shed already. I'm sorry Sam."

Sam's nostrils flared, he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he saw Castiel straightening his posture, scowling. The two friends looked at one another over the tabletop, unmoving, the air around them thickening with every passing moment. Castiel knew that hostilities were going to get them nowhere fast. He broke the gaze, looking down at the objects on the table.

"I brought you these."

Castiel indicated the two bags in front of him. Sam looked between Castiel and the bags, tilting his head slightly and furrowing his brows. He stepped forward and cautiously reached into one of the bags. He pulled out a six-pack of beer. Despite himself, a small chuckle escaped his lips.

"Thanks a lot Cas, but I really—"

"The clerk called them 'brewskis'. I think he was Canadian. I thought maybe you could do with one. You know, considering."

Sam was touched by the gesture. He pulled one of the bottles from the case, twisted the cap off, and brought the bottle to his lips. He paused briefly, memories of drinking with Dean at the forefront of his mind, and then he took a long deep swig. The smell of hops overwhelmed his senses, but the golden bodied brew was smooth in his mouth, and the bubbles fizzled lightly against his tongue. He tasted hints of caramel under the heavy malt profile. Dean would have loved this beer. Sam finished drinking and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He tilted the head of the bottle towards the second bag.

"What's in the other one?"

"Breakfast."

"_What?_"

Castiel moved to the other bag and began unloading its contents onto the table. Sam took another mouthful of his drink, planting himself on one of the chairs.

"I picked up a few tricks as my time as a human. The first thing I learned was how important food was to my body. I thought maybe I could make some eggs for you and we could talk about what's going on—"

Sam stiffened, and the look on his face stopped Castiel in his tracks. Sam stared through Castiel, and the color slowing drained from his face. His was mouth slightly agape and he held his beer with such force that his knuckles turned white.

"Sam?"

Sam blinked rapidly, coming back to life. He exploded out of the chair, dropping the empty bottle down onto the table, paying no attention to the sound of shattering glass. He bolted out of the main foyer, and raced down the gray concrete corridor,. Castiel was not far behind.

"SAM! WHAT IS IT? _SAM!_"

Sam could hear the yells following him as he raced towards Dean's bedroom. His heart was stuck in his throat. He couldn't speak. He hoped that somehow he was mistaken - That the thought that had been pounding at his skull all day was wrong. If it weren't, it changed everything.


	4. Taken

*** Chapter 3: Taken ***

Castiel made it to the bedroom just in time to see Sam crumple to his knees. Castiel stood in the doorway, panting slightly. Sam was by the bed, holding a pillow in his hands, face buried into it. Castiel could not hear Sam crying, but he could see the man's body trembling. He entered the room, walked straight over to Sam, and placed his hand tenderly on Sam's left shoulder, squeezing it lightly. Sam either did not notice that he was there, or he did not care. The trembling continued. Castiel scanned the room from where he stood, taking note that the personal effects that were present the last time he was here were now nowhere to be seen. He narrowed his eyes and looked down at Sam.

"This is Dean's bedroom?"

Sam looked up at Castiel from his position on the floor, and Castiel removed his hand from Sam's shoulder. Sam's eyes were bloodshot and the rawness Castiel could see reflected in them was emphasized by the pallor of his face. Sam's lower lip quivered and his hands shook as he offered the pillow to the angel standing over him. Castiel took the object from Sam, returning him a puzzled look.

"Just smell it Cas."

Castiel raised the damp pillow to his face and inhaled. A mixture of scents entered his nostrils, kicking his keen senses into overdrive. Castiel detected a salty odor, mostly likely from tears and sweat, but there was something else was there too, lingering in the pores of the fabric. He could just about identify it – Eggs. More specifically, rotten eggs. He looked down at Sam.

"Sulfur."

Sam nodded slowly. Castiel's arms dropped, and he released the pillow from his grip. Sam picked it up again, rose from the floor, and placed it back onto Dean's bed. Sam crossed his arms, and turned to face Castiel.

"What do you think this means?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. So many potential answers were flying through his head – None of them good. "I don't know Sam. Did you find anything else in your search?"

"No. I only just remembered the smell, but I don't think I overlooked anything else. I examined the bunker from top to bottom, and I didn't find a thing. Nothing, Cas. It's like he just vanished into thin air. There's just _that_." Sam nodded in the direction of the pillow.

Castiel crouched down, and spread his fingers over a space alongside Dean's bed. "Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth."

"Did you just quote Sherlock Holmes?" asked Sam, raising an eyebrow.

Castiel rose. "I'm very pop culture sa—"

"Yeah, I get it Cas," Sam interjected. "But what do you mean? Do you think–" he cleared his throat, "Do you think a demon took Dean?"

"All signs point towards exactly that."

Sam gave an exasperated sigh, and ran his fingers through his hair. "How? I mean, this place is warded from the ground up."

Castiel crossed the width of the room, concentration etched on his face. He touched the wall adjacent to the door. He hoped to detect a hidden entrance, _anything_ that would explain how Dean's body was removed from the room. It was certainly unusual for a demon to be able to enter – and exit – a building that had this amount of warding, but it wasn't exactly impossible, especially if the demon in question had been summoned. He turned to face Sam.

"Did you summon Crowley?"

Sam's eyebrows furrowed, his mouth turned down. "What are you saying Cas? You think that Crowley took Dean's…?"

"So you did summon him."

"I tried to Cas, but he never showed."

Castiel had not heard of this happening before, but Crowley was no regular demon, he was the King of Hell. Castiel could see Sam's mind considering the significance of his actions. He wanted to comfort the younger Winchester, but he knew that nothing he could say would make Sam feel any better. Sam sat down on the edge of Dean's bed, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Cas…Do you think that has anything to do with the Mark of Cain?"

"Perhaps."

"What do you know about the Mark?"

"Not much. The scriptures say that Lucifer branded Cain with the Mark after he killed his brother, Abel, with the First Blade. Cain became the Father of Murder, and the first Knight of Hell."

"What happens to the Mark when the bearer dies? Cain passed it on to Dean, but he was alive when he did that. Could someone simply _take_ it from Dean now that he's—he's gone?"

"I'm unsure. Cain might know the answer to that," Castiel said, rubbing his chin. "Or Metatron."

"You want to talk to _Metatron_?" Sam asked through gritted teeth.

"We may not have any other choice. Dean's body is missing, and we don't know who took it, or why."

Castiel saw a shudder ripple through Sam at the mention of his brother's body, and he immediately regretted his choice of words. Castiel's own heart ached with grief for the deceased Winchester, but he knew the pain he felt was not a match for Sam's agony.

Sam stood sharply. "Well, we know who to start with. And it's not Metatron."

Castiel nodded and followed Sam out of the bedroom. Silence fell between them as they made their way to the bunker's dungeon. Castiel knew that this was where Sam and Dean had held Crowley in a Devil's Trap – an ancient sigil used to snare demons – for an extended period of time earlier in the year. Castiel couldn't help but think about the summoning that Sam attempted earlier, and what it suggested about Crowley's abilities. He wondered if Crowley was somehow able to manipulate the ritual and maneuver himself into Dean's bedroom, away from the dungeon. He hoped that was not a possibility, but once upon a time he didn't think the Gates of Heaven could be closed either. The last thing humanity needed was Crowley getting his hands on Dean's body – especially now it bore the Mark of Cain.

Together, the two men opened the heavy door to the cell that contained the Devil's Trap. Castiel noted a second sigil marked the floor in front of the cell's Devil Trap, and a small bowl sat in the middle of the chalk markings. An assortment of herbs lay floating in the container with, what Castiel assumed to be, a mixture of Dean's and Sam's blood. Three black candles formed a triangle around the bowl, and a few books of ancient incantations sat nearby, alongside a wooden box containing jars of herbs. Sam squatted, pulled a small box from his pocket and reached inside. Castiel bent down and grabbed Sam's arm, stopping him from creating a flame, the trigger for the summoning.

"Sam, what happened to the First Blade?"

Castiel crouched down beside Sam. The distraught Winchester looked down at the match in between his fingers, trying to focus.

"I don't…I don't remember. After Dean—" Sam closed his eyes and swallowed, "After Dean died, I just…I don't remember Cas."

Castiel released Sam from his grip. Sam struck the match on the side of the box. A flame erupted and began dancing in front of Sam's face.

"_Et ad congregandum...eos coram me._"

Sam dropped the match into the bowl. They both stood, stepped back, and watched as the blood and herbs were reignited. A figure appeared in front of them.

"Hello Moose. Angel boy."


End file.
